Once upon a time, he used to persuade his parents to buy a lot of gifts for his teachers. He eagerly wrapped the presents with the help of his mother. The wrapping looked clumsy but there was no question about his sincerity. He loved his teachers.
This time around, things were different. Instead of wrapping a present, he would be doing the opposite. His hands were full with presents. His stomach, with foods. It was not just him. His colleagues were also having the same symptoms.
From day one, the feeling blossomed into something mutual. Love. He became more and more attached to the children, something he tried to avoid when he stepped into this profession. It was not because he hated commitment. It was a necessity. He realised one day, he would have to leave them. He would hurt them so bad to make him regret it for the rest of his life.
The future for him was an irony. He wanted the children to become better persons than him but at the same time he was terrified that he would have no chance to see it with his own eyes.
He sat on at a corner with a plate of unfinished moist chocolate cake on the table. He looked at his children happily chatting with each other while enjoying the meals. Slowly he tried to swallow the painful reality. Slowly he wonder the pleasure behind such pain.
He was waiting for a present. A special present.
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